


How Can I Resist You?

by OrangeScript



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Wolfstar, F/M, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hinny Wedding?, I love everyone, M/M, Mamma Mia AU!, NO bashing!, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Who's Harry's Dad, bisexual!harry, drarry endgame, jily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeScript/pseuds/OrangeScript
Summary: “So let me get this straight,” Ron repeated for the third time, “You just invited four random strangers to your wedding on the off chance that one of them is your long-lost father?”...Harry's getting married to Ginny Weasley, his childhood sweetheart. But when he finds Lily's old diary from the year she was pregnant, he realizes that the wedding is the perfect opportunity to meet his long-lost father.However, Lily's old suitors aren't the only surprise wedding guests hoping to rekindle a romance, and let's just say that Harry might've gotten a bit more than he can bargain for. Will there be a wedding? Whose? And who is Harry's dad?A fun summer Drarry AU inspired by Mamma Mia!





	1. Honey Honey

             “So let me get this straight,” Ron repeated for the third time, “You just invited four random strangers to your wedding on the off chance that one of them is your _long-lost father?”_

              Harry ignored him in favor of adjusting the gears on his Omnioculars, zooming greedily in on the first man who had exited the boat.

              Hermione, who had initially been similarly skeptical, was now skimming through Lily’s old diary, highlighter in hand, lips pursed in concentration. She was approaching this venture, Harry was gratified to see, with all the efficiency and seriousness she would any class assignment. _“Well if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right!”_ She had declared, before snatching the diary from Harry’s hands when he had sheepishly confessed what he’d done.

              “What do you think?” Harry demanded, glancing up from the Omnioculars to gesture to the figure of the man—tall, handsome, and proud-looking with sharp grey eyes and shaggy black hair.

              Ron made an impatient noise and Harry reluctantly passed the Omnioculars to him.

              “Could be!” Ron said excitedly, adjusting the gears. “He’s got black hair, just like you!”

              Hermione clucked her tongue, holding out her hand, and Ron immediately handed them to her. She peered through them for a couple seconds, before lowering them thoughtfully.

              Harry was practically vibrating with excitement. “Well?”

              “That’ll be Sirius Black,” she pronounced, thumbing through the hand-written pages, “Ah, here, see: _‘tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome with an inexplicably haughty mien, never seen without a pristine Rolex strapped to his wrist, even on the beach.’_ ” She read aloud.

              Harry took the Omnioculars back and zoomed in again, this time on the man’s wrist. Sure enough, a shiny watch glinted in the sunlight. He grinned.

              “Oi, who’s that then?” Ron asked, hitting him lightly to indicate another man who stepped off the boat to engage the first in conversation.

              Harry swung the goggles round and studied the newcomer curiously. He was weary-looking and scarred, with rumpled brown hair and, Harry noticed when he impishly offered the first man a bar of chocolate, a very kind smile.

              He looked up at Hermione.

              “Remus Lupin,” she said, without bothering to skim through the journal again. “’Professorial, addicted to chocolate, and perpetually in need of sleep,’” She listed off.

              Ron took the Omnioculars from Harry again, and frowned. “His hair’s not as dark as yours,” he noted. “But it looks just as messy. And you certainly like your sweets.”

              That was true, actually; Harry rather did have a sweet tooth.

Two more men exited the boat— one tall and wearing black robes despite the heat, who held himself stiffly apart from the others, and another short and plump, who bounced happily onto the dock to engage the first two.

              Harry allowed Ron several seconds to examine the new additions— “Oi, Harry, this bloke has black hair too! …But I really hope he’s not your father. Merlin, even the thought of him coming near Aunt Lily makes me sick—" before snatching the Omnioculars again to look for himself.

              “Severus Snape,” Harry decided, eyes tracing over the greasy black hair, sallow skin, and hooked nose, his stomach roiling as he recalled a particularly nasty and tear-stained passage in the diary. He also hoped that this man wasn’t his father.

              He handed the Omnioculars to Hermione for a quick look, and she nodded in confirmation.

              “Which makes that last bloke…” Hermione trailed off, her brow creasing slightly.

              Harry skimmed the final man through the magical lenses, his heart sinking a little bit as he studied the short, balding, rather plump man whose face was ruddy from the sun. “James Potter,” He finished for Hermione, trying not to feel disappointed as he handed off the Omnioculars to an eager Ron. From the way James Potter had been described by his mother in the diary— brilliant, hot-headed, dynamic, charismatic, and noble— he had been secretly hoping that _he_ would be the one, but this man was very clearly too fair-skinned to be Harry’s dad. Not to mention, he didn’t quite live up to Lily’s description.

              Hermione was sifting rapidly through the diary, brow still creased, “I don’t understand,” She muttered, “Lily was so spot-on with the rest of the descriptions— I recognized them so easily.”

              “Why?” Ron asked, still trailing the four men through the Omnioculars. “How did she describe James, then?”

              “ _‘Strong-jawed,’_ ” Hermione read out from a passage detailing one of the first encounters Lily had had with James (they’d had a spectacular row), _“‘Broad-shouldered and bespectacled with a brilliant light in his eyes, a boyish grin, and an ungovernable mane fit for the beast that he was. And he was—beastly, I mean— and yet… by far the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.’_ ”

              Ron snorted dubiously, fiddling with the zoom on the goggles. “I’d say the years were not kind to the ‘Beast.’”

              Hermione slapped him admonishingly with the diary, but Harry rolled his eyes and forced a grin, trying to quell the disappointed feeling. So what his dad wasn’t the man his mom had been head-over-heels in love with? That didn’t mean anything. His father was still here, and Harry was closer than ever to finally meeting him and finally knowing him— and finally knowing himself.

              “Focus,” Hermione ordered, tapping Ron’s head lightly with the diary. “Okay, I guess we can tentatively rule out James Potter,” she said with a sigh. “Pity. I was so hoping it would be him. He sounds like he was quite the _dreamboat_ back in the day—"   

              Ron spluttered, his ears turning very red.

              “Yes, yes, well,” Hermione continued hurriedly, looking decidedly embarrassed as she brushed a tangle of her frizzy dark hair off her shoulder.

              Harry wanted to roll his eyes again at his friends’ horribly awkward, entirely mutual, and as-of-yet completely unacknowledged feelings for each other, but refrained.

             “He’s white,” Ron said bluntly.

             “Yes,” Hermione sighed again. “He does look a bit too pale to be the source of Harry’s ‘perpetual tan,’” She quirked her eyebrows as she used the line they’d taken to quipping every time Harry was asked what ethnicity he was, “And Lily’s family are all Irish so I don’t think it comes from her side. I think it’s most likely Sirius Black, but we can’t rule out Lupin or Snape, either,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed at something in the distance and she snapped the book shut decisively. “Well, Harry, you go distract your mother; Ron and I will see to it that our special guests are squirreled away somewhere until the wedding tomorrow.” 

            “But I want to—” Harry protested, but Hermione just nodded significantly to something behind him.

             He turned, and his heart dropped. There, on the other side of the beach, Harry saw his mother— along with Mrs. Weasley and Harry’s godmother Mary MacDonald— greeting two new arrivals, a young man and an older woman, both blonde and pale and delicately beautiful, like white roses in the heavy sun. His eyes were immediately glued to the figure of the young man, who flashed a quick smile at Harry’s mother, reaching out to take her hand in greeting. Harry would recognize that smile, that elegant bearing, that head of white-blonde hair anywhere.

             Then, as if sensing Harry’s eyes on his back, the newcomer turned, his hand falling out of Lily’s, and Harry was pierced by those sharp silver eyes that seemed to see right through him.

              Harry tore his gaze back to Hermione, suddenly panicked.

              _“Who invited him?”_ He whispered, stricken.

               Ron turned, caught sight of the newcomers, and scrambled to his feet, swearing roundly. _“What is that ferret-faced bastard doing here—?!"_

              “Enough, Ron,” Hermione ordered. “It was probably your mother,” she said, turning to Harry. “She knew you were friends, right? I’m assuming you mentioned him a few times in your letters home. I don’t think she knows about— well, _everything_ , does she?”

               Harry shook his head guiltily.

               “There,” Hermione said gently. “She probably thought it would be a nice surprise for you to see some of your other friends.” She pressed a hand, dry and brown and comforting, into his arm. “Breathe,” she said softly, the skin around her dark eyes crinkling. “Are you okay to handle that on your own?”

              “Now wait a minute—” Ron protested hotly.

              “Yes,” Harry interrupted, Hermione’s touch grounding him, even though he felt like the bottom of his stomach had just fallen away, leaving the inside of him a hollowed-out, empty void.

              “Okay,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand. “Ron and I will take care of your dads.”

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! I just watched Mamma Mia! again instead of studying for a midterm, and was inspired to write a Harry Potter fic with a similar premise instead of studying for that midterm! This is an AU that heavily borrows from Mamma Mia! But if you think you know the story, think again! I know this chapter's a little short, but chapter 2 oughta make up for it! Drop a review and tell me what you think :)


	2. Just One Look

Harry picked his way across the beach, but when he approached the knot of people around his mother, he stationed himself partly behind a palm tree to covertly study them— well, to study one person in particular— his heart hammering in his throat.

“I’ll get you settled in,” Lily was saying brightly, gesturing for the guests to follow as she walked backwards into the open hotel lobby. 

“Draco—” The beautiful blonde woman called, on Lily’s heels. 

“Yes, Mother, I’ll just get the bags,” the object of Harry’s study pivoted gracefully, and Harry didn’t have the time or imagination to pretend he hadn’t been staring.

Draco’s eyebrows rose slightly.

He looked good, Harry thought. Lithe and sharp and elegant as ever, but his blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if his gel hadn’t quite held up against the Greek sun, and there was color on his cheeks already— the beginnings of a tan, or a burn, maybe. He was wearing a loose white shirt, unbuttoned at the top in deference to the heat, and the sharp swooshes of his collarbones and the elegant column of his throat were exposed to the wind and the world and to Harry’s greedy, greedy eyes. The adam’s apple on that elegant throat bobbed, indicating that its owner had swallowed, and Harry, suddenly forced back to reality, dragged those cursed greedy eyes awkwardly back up to meet Draco’s grey ones.

There was something hungry in them, something powerful, and it hit Harry rather unexpectedly, like a physical blow. Draco stepped forward, and Harry stumbled backwards automatically. He felt his back hit the rough bark of the palm tree, and he reached back to hold the trunk and steady himself.

His breathing was shallow; he could hear it on the wind, and he hated himself for being so weak, hated that there were stupid tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. He lifted his chin defiantly—never mind that he was all but sagging against the tree and tearing up— “What are you doing here?” He demanded.

  _“What are **you** doing here?” Blood dribbled from Harry’s lips and down his chin and Malfoy gave him an annoyed look, before grasping Harry under his armpits._

_“He saved your life, that’s what he’s doing here, Evans— **for Merlin’s sake why is it always you** — Now, Mr. Malfoy, I’ve got his leg—”_

_Harry groaned as he was hoisted onto a bed._

_It was raining hard outside, and Harry was in the bed by the window, his mangled leg bound up in ropes. His head was pounding violently, threatening to split the world in two, and his blood was hot and thick on his face and nose and running between his cracked lips into his mouth. Fingers prodded his leg and he let out a guttural scream, thrashing against the arms restraining him; the world was hazy with pain, but he focused, with effort, on the drawn, pinched, and decidedly unwelcome face of the man who held him down._

_“Yes, I know it hurts; you’ve gone and snapped your femur clean in half,” the healer informed him from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet, her matronly voice tinged with exasperation. “And all for what? A little golden ball? Dear Merlin and Morgana, I’ll never understand the insanity that is this sport. Midnight Practice?! Extra bludgers? In this weather? Thank Merlin I had Malfoy on duty, or next week we’d be at a Puddlemere funeral, not a match! Quick thinking, by the way, Mr. Malfoy, I’ve never seen someone use the Incarcerous spell for a tourniquet; well done—”_

_Harry blinked groggily at his former nemesis; Malfoy was bent over him, pinning Harry’s upper body to the bed by his shoulders. He was disheveled from the rain, all pinched eyebrows and floppy blond hair, dripping water all over Harry and the bed._

_“There’s nothing for it, we’re going to have to fix the break. It’s going to hurt. Mr. Malfoy, would you like to do the honors? I believe you’ve already covered the spell in your practical first aid class?”_

_Harry saw Malfoy half-turn, obviously eager to learn, and a blind, mindless panic rushed through him at the thought of Malfoy pointing a wand at the mess of bone and blood and earth-shattering pain that was currently Harry’s leg. Malfoy caught his look and hesitated, before turning back to lean fully over Harry, pressing him firmly into the bed._

_“I’m good where I am, Healer Smythe,” Malfoy said, “I’ll just hold him down.”_

_Healer Smythe offered Harry a rolled-up rag to bite down on, and Harry did, tasting the sickly taste of antiseptic and cotton amidst the blood that was already in his mouth._

_“I’ll just count down from five, okay? Five…”_

_“Evans,” Malfoy adjusted himself over Harry’s torso, grip strong but not harsh._

_“Mmm,” Harry mumbled, Malfoy’s blurry face swimming in and out of his field of vision. He knew he was tensing in preparation for the pain, which would only make it worse…_

_“Four…”_

**_“Harry,”_ **

_Harry met the grey eyes. They were open. Soft. Conversational. “So, did you catch it? The snitch?”_

_Harry struggled to loosen the clenched fist of his right hand; he couldn’t feel his fingers. Malfoy glanced down, his eyes widening in surprise as Harry’s hand fell open, revealing the small winged ball. His eyes darted back to Harry’s, and there was something in them that transfixed Harry—_

_“…Two!”_

_A crack rent the air and Harry bucked at the pain of his leg rearranging itself, a half-scream-half-sob tearing itself from his throat, and he knew his eyes were streaming— Malfoy’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and Harry could feel his hot breath on his neck as he murmured something unintelligibly soothing. Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head and he welcomed the void—_

“I was invited.”

“What?” Harry blinked, dizzy and disoriented. The white sand of the beach seemed to blink back at him, almost twinkling in the afternoon sun.

Draco raised his eyebrows again, giving Harry a bemused look, before producing an envelope.

Harry snatched it from him, and unsheathed the scrap of scarlet parchment, skimming the familiar greeting. He looked up at Draco, who was watching him, eyebrows still arched.

“You were invited,” he repeated dumbly.

Draco frowned. “It really wasn’t you?” He asked, running a hand through his hair, looking suddenly awkward. “I thought you’d sent it to be polite, hoping I would just ignore it, or even just to be a dick, or maybe you were hoping— I didn’t know what to think… It never once occurred to me that _you_ hadn’t sent it— I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but then Mum saw it and she insisted—”

Harry stuffed the invitation back into the envelope, surprised at how steady his hands were. “Well, at least you’re not gatecrashing,” he offered in a painfully stilted attempt at a joke.

Draco’s grey eyes were intense, and he took another step forward. “Would you like me to?” He asked, voice low.

Harry promptly dropped the envelope.

He scrambled to pick it up, his cheeks burning, and maybe his eyes a little bit, too—

_Malfoy’s mouth, hot and wet and **everywhere** , his fingers scrabbling impatiently at Harry’s jersey as Harry backed him up into the wall of lockers and boldly crushed their lips together—_

The sand was dry and burning on his bare knees as Harry carefully picked up the envelope, his breathing shallow.

“Harry,” he heard Draco say, from somewhere above him, and his voice was so caring that Harry wanted to scream.

 **_“Evans,”_ ** _Malfoy’s eyes were big and grey and his pupils were blown wide and he was panting; he was absolutely undone. Harry ignored the creaking protest of his kneecaps on the hard tile and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inseam of Malfoy’s trousers. **“Harry,”** Draco groaned, fisting his hands in Harry’s messy hair and letting his head fall back—_

Harry got to his feet, hand trembling as he extended the envelope, once again.

Draco gave him a measuring look before accepting it. “What am I supposed to think, Harry? Receiving a wedding invitation from you when not two months ago, you were _in my bed—"_

A voice floated to them from off in the distance— _“Draco, the bags!”_

“Coming, Mother!” Draco called back, his eyes not leaving Harry’s.

Harry bowed his head, his eyes stinging. “I told you, I didn’t send—”

“It doesn’t matter who sent the invitation,” Draco snapped. “I want to know what _you_ _want from me.”_  

The last part seemed torn from his throat almost against his will, and Harry suddenly realized that maybe this was as hard for Draco as it was for him. He lifted his head, met Draco’s raw, silver stare head-on.

“I love her,” Harry whispered, watching Draco’s face close off, but suddenly needing him to understand. “She was my first love. We basically grew up together; she’s always been there—"

Draco turned around, obviously intending to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm.

“I feel… _safe_ with her,” he told Draco desperately, clutching his arm tightly, “Things— things make _sense_ with her—”

“Safe and sensible,” Draco sneered, “How absolutely romantic.” He pried Harry’s fingers from his shirt and shoved Harry’s arm away from him, “Have a nice life, _Evans.”_

Harry stood, propped up against the tree, for a good several minutes after Draco had left. He eventually looked up and caught sight of the small, sunny window overlooking the beach, and his heart sank.

He stood fully, brushed the sand from his knees, and made his way to the entrance of the decrepit building, feeling numb.

…

Ginny was lounging on the bed in her robe, nose buried in a large piece of parchment which was creased as if it had been folded and unfolded many times. She looked up when Harry paused in the doorway, and snapped the parchment shut, stowing it away in the pocket of her robe.

“Late RSVP?” Harry asked, nodding at the bulging pocket.

She hummed noncommittally, unscrewing the cap on a bottle of nail polish. “Saw Malfoy arrive,” she informed him, sounding nonchalant, but the look she gave him through her eyelashes was decidedly scrutinizing.

“I know,” Harry sighed, plopping down next to her on the bed to rake his hands through his hair, “I didn’t invite him.”

“Watch it,” Ginny warned, holding the tiny, dripping paintbrush steady as he accidentally jostled her on the bed.

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I know you don’t like him—”

She snorted ungracefully, then blew on her wet toenails; they were painted that fresh shade of Harpies green she adored so much.

“Look,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice even, (but dear _Merlin,_ he was too tired for this), “We talked about this. You saw other people too, when you went off to uni—"

“It’s not about that,” She snapped, turning to look fully at him for the first time. The paintbrush, unheeded in her fingers, dripped a tiny green spot onto her foot.

“Then _what?”_ Harry demanded, suddenly angry, “Because he’s a bloke?”

Ginny went silent. She regarded him carefully, before returning the dripping brush to the bottle with a small sigh. Harry immediately regretted his outburst.

“I just don’t understand,” she said softly. “He was a right _git_ —”

“I _know_ he was a right git at Hogwarts!” Harry hissed, but with less heat.

“What changed?” She asked, voice quiet as she inspected her toes.

“I told you, he saved my life," Harry answered, but something in her face told him that wasn’t what she had meant.

But she rolled her eyes and whatever it was he thought he’d seen in her face dissipated. “He’s apprentice to a Sports Healer, that was his _job_ —"

“Well _yeah,_ ” Harry argued, “But I still thought it was pretty decent of him!”

“And then?” She prompted. She’d pulled the brush out of the little bottle again and was doing a second coat. Her hands were shaking slightly.

Harry looked away, his jaw tight. “…And then we started hanging out more, after practice, at lunch…We sort of became…mates.”

“And then?” She wasn’t looking at him, appearing utterly absorbed with the application of the tiny brush to her green toenails.

Harry clenched his jaw. “And then,” He repeated harshly, “We became…more.”

“Was it serious?” She asked, blowing on her toes again as she capped the bottle.

“No.”

“Harry, don’t lie to me.”

Harry felt a muscle in his jaw flex, and he unclenched his fists— he’d been digging his fingernails into his palms, he realized— and tried to take a deep, calming breath. “It wasn’t serious,” he said again. And when she looked up, eyebrows raised, he added, voice very quiet, “…To him.”

 

_The day the papers printed the photo— a slightly blurry one, but nonetheless one which depicted, unmistakably, Harry Evans, the youngest starting seeker in the league, TriWizard Champion, and son of a muggle-born single mother, locked in steamy, passionate embrace with the blond, pure-blood, and decidedly male Malfoy heir, whose father, noted politician Lucius Malfoy, had been taking rather a lot of public heat for the past few months over some leaked private remarks that expressed both homophobic and pureblood-supremacist sentiments— well, that day, Harry had Quidditch practice._

_Harry had been slightly anxious about this unplanned ‘coming out’ to the public, but the coverage had been largely positive, and the idea that he was no longer forced to hide, that he was finally free, put him in an incredibly good mood. He accepted his teammates’ ribbing all day good-naturedly, feeling too irrepressibly giddy and happy to really put an end to it. Of course, the huge, slightly spacey grins he would sport at random intervals, along with this unnaturally long tolerance he seemed to have for their antics only encouraged them in their piss-taking. Harry took it all with a smile and a roll of his eyes, but he demurred on their proposal for post-practice drinks; he hadn’t talked to Draco about it yet, and he wasn’t sure how the other was feeling—_

_He was undoing the laces on his sweaty arm-guards, walking towards the door of the locker room, when he recognized Draco’s voice, coming from inside._

_He grinned, about to push the door open, when he heard another voice. It was Lucius Malfoy._

**_“—worked out brilliantly, surprisingly. I was only joking when I suggested you seduce the Evans boy, but—”_ ** _There was a harsh, elegant laugh._

_Harry froze, hand over the doorknob._

_Lucius continued, “The tabloids, the photo— It was a little less elegant than I would have done, but I suppose the optics of it work out; you’re young, after all. And I suppose your… **proclivities** … would have had to come out sooner or later, and the timing of this couldn’t be better. Have him come ‘round for dinner at the Manor; we’ll have the two of you get papped when you’re leaving, or maybe we’ll have tea out in the garden, and we can leak photographs of us all having a marvelous time. Your mother and I will issue a statement heartily supporting the relationship, and that nasty business from before will be all but forgotten—” _

_Harry had heard enough. He clutched his loose arm-guard to his chest unsteadily, turned on the spot, and disapparated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we got some insight on Drarry's history (gasp!)  
> We'll see some Jily next time, I promise!  
> Just some general background for this AU: Voldemort was/is not a thing, so Harry wasn't the BWL, but he is still kinda famous for winning the Tri-wizard cup and for being the Puddlemere seeker. The Trio + Malfoy did go to Hogwarts, but I don't think Lily will have gone to Hogwarts in this one, and if she did it was only for one year before she moved to the island in Greece.
> 
> Hope this tickled your fancy; if it did, please drop me a comment :) 
> 
> XOXOXOXO  
> OrangeScript


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